One More Miracle
by Blue-eyesThropp
Summary: Sherlock had been absent for three whole years, but still John missed his friends. However, he did ask for one more miracle.
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note: Okay, this is it. My apology for having been absent for... yep, I think an age would be the apporpriate term. Bits of this little story here were once part of a play I was writing with a friend and she was very eager for me to upload this changed version to FFnet. I hope you all enjoy it! Have a good one, Blue-eyes**

One More Miracle

"I'm sorry... I really am, it's just..." he thrust his head into his hands and groaned.

"John," she laid a comforting hand on his knee. Instinctively, he flinched. She had touched the spot of his injury- where he believed it to be. However, she took little notice.

"It's been three years. You've been through, what, five psychologists? You've even gone back to your cane," unlike the other therapists, Doctor Taylor said this without even the faintest trace of irony, but with sympathy and feeling, "And you haven't said a word about him. John, I know it's hard, but I think it would really benefit you to talk about it. "

Yes, three years. Three long years of endless pain and grief. Of silence when he returned home from working at the hospital, silence during those long hours he and Mrs. Hudson had just sat there in the living room, longing for someone to shoot at the wall or shout or tap their feet or anything… anything. Three years during which the ex-army doctor had returned to his limp and crutch; his safety net. Three years during which nothing had happened. Three years during which _his_ name had been pronounced not once.

Silence engulfed the psychologist's office for several seconds. In his heart of hearts, John Watson knew that he would free himself from a massive burden just by talking about _it._ And yet, something inside him seemed to function like a dam to his words, would not let them come out. He inhaled, exhaled, and inhaled again.

"My friend…" John gulped, knowing nothing could both as terrible and as freeing as what he was about to say, "Sher… Sher… Sherlock H-Holmes," he took one pained breath, "killed himself three years ago and I don't know what to do without him." His words all merged into one between the sounds of his sobs.


	2. Chapter 2

**Author's Note: Okay, here is chapter 2 of my apology. This is probably only going to be a two chapter story, but I'm thinking about doing some more Sherlock stuff, so if you enjoyed this and/or would like to have some more Sherlock fanfics, please let me know!  
Lots of love,  
Blue-eyes**

One More Miracle

"Shall I get you another cup of tea, dear?"

"I thought you were my landlady and not…"

"I'm not your housekeeper. You just looked like you could do with some cheering up, that's all."

John couldn't be cynical around Mrs. Hudson for long. He could not even begin think about what he would have done with out her. She had acted as his steady rock these last years, someone he could always rely on.

"Tea'd be great, Mrs. Hudson. Cheers."

As she bustled away, John turned the TV up louder. He had in recent months taking to watching Emerdale Farm regularly, sometimes with Mrs. Hudson, if she wasn't trying to distract herself from reality with unnecessary housework. With no severed heads in fridges, no bulletholes in the walls, and John's incurable neat streak, distraction was the only reason Mrs. Hudson still ran around cleaning every single day.

"Thanks," said John, when Mrs. Hudson returned with a cup of tea and a plate of chocolate coated Digestives.

"There. I've given you the chocolate covered ones for a bit more comfort," she glanced at the TV, "Oh, watching Emerdale again are we? What's happening? Someone killed himself agai-" she stopped short,"Oh, John, I'm so sorry. I really didn't mean to…"

"No, really, Mrs. Hudson, it's fine. Thank's for the tea."

Mrs. Hudson made haste to leave the room, realizing her blunder just seconds too late, but stopped at the door, one hand on the door frame and turned around. She eyed John with a pitying look in her eye and shook her head. She hadn't meant for John to see it, but she hadn't meant for him not to either.

John rubbed both his hands over his unshaven face and gave himself a slight pat on each cheek.

"Stop it!" he tried to tell himself.  
"Just stop it! He's gone, for goodness sake! Thinking about him won't bring him back! Pull yorself together man!"

As John reached for his tea, he thought he heard a door opening and shutting downstairs.

"Mrs. Hudson?"

As John received no reply, he assumed Mrs. Hudson had gone out for groceries. He tried to focus his attention back on the television- he really did want to find out whose the baby was, but the creaking of the stairs made his head snap up again.

"Mrs. Hudson?" he tried again, only louder this time. Still, there was no response. Funny, he thought, as he took another sip of his tea. He could have sworn he felt another prescence in the room. Obviously, he had been watching too many soap operas. He switched the Tv off and closed his eyes, taking a moment to return to himself again.

When he opened them, however, not only was his illusion of another presence stronger than before, but the reflection of a hooded figure was clearly visible on the blank screen. Gripping his cane, John heaved himself out of the chair and swiveled around."You asked for one more miracle," said Sherlock, and removed the hood to reveal himself to his best friend.

* * *

He thought he heard Mrs. Hudson calling him from downstairs, but he could not be sure. He wasn't sure of anything. He felt numb. Numb, as years of pain washed over him. Numb, as tears came to his eyes and his face contorted into a grotesque mess of joy and anger and hatred and love. Numb as he dropped his cane and took a shaky step towards his old companion.

They were both on the floor by the time the numbness started to decrease, John on top pounding at Sherlock's face, arms, chest, the floor- anything. Mrs. Hudson was standing several feet away from them, wearing a look of utmost was not until John noticed the blood gushing from Sherlock's nose that he let himself drop into his friend's arms and stayed there, howling like a banshee.

"You- you- you BASTARD!" he managed to yell between his cries, "You cowardly, disgusting bastard!"

And he hugged his friend tighter than 's gaze wandered over to Mrs. Hudson. When their eyes met, however, Mrs. Hudson let out a pained cry and was off down the stairs, sobbing.

All Sherlock said was, "John…" but what was hidden behind his words was not lost on anyone: that he was sorry, that he try to right everything and that he was aware that nothing he might try to say could possibly ease the pain that he had put John through. So the both of them just stayed put on the carpeted floor, wrapped in each other's arms, silently.


End file.
